Viewpoint
by DefineNormalitee
Summary: A series of short drabbles based on scenes we didn't see during the series. Rated T for language and what have you. R&R!
1. Kicker

"Mitchell!"

Mitchell sighed. _She probably wants to know if I want a cup of tea, _he grumbled inwardly, and thundered down the stairs and into the kitchen. He'd carried George upstairs- Annie had refused to look at the naked werewolf because she could see his 'bits'- and Mitchell assumed that his friend was sleeping it off. Annie was standing with her back to him, next to the sink. The vampire sighed, and leant against the door frame. "I'm fine for tea, thanks, Annie."

"No, Mitchell- look!"

"Mmm hmmm?" Mitchell answered absent mindedly, not really listening. He strode into the sitting room, where wreckage from George's 'time of the month' was strewn across the bare wooden floor. He sighed, and started filling a bin bag with bits of chair leg. _This'll mean another trip to Ikea, _the vampire reflected with a shudder. He _hated _Ikea. Behind him, Annie cleared her throat politely. Mitchell forced a smile before turning to face the beaming ghost. She held his mobile in his hand.

"Look at this, Mitchell!"

He wandered over to take the phone from her outstretched hand. The smile had slid from his face, but she either didn't notice or didn't care.

"It's a phone, Annie."

"No, silly!" The ghost crowed happily, ignoring the blank- yet strangely dark- look her housemate gave her. "Listen to the message!"

With several deep, restraining breaths, Mitchell put the phone to his ear and pressed 'Play Messages'.

"_You have one-new-message,_" the tinny woman's voice informed him dully. Annie was skipping around the room with a brush, squealing ecstatically- more dancing than actual sweeping. "_Message one…" _

"Hi, Mitchell, it's Owen," was the next thing Mitchell heard, and he groaned; no _wonder _she was so happy… the message continued. "I just wondered how you all were, and I'm going to pop in later if that's alright. Give me a ring. Bye."

Mitchell snapped his phone shut, only to open it again and began to press Owen's number into the keypad violently. It had to be done… across the room, Annie paused in her manic dancing and looked at him worriedly.

"What are you doing?"

He ignored her, and put the phone to his ear. Annie padded to his side.

"Mitchell?"

"He can't come here, Annie," the vampire told her softly. The ghost gasped.

And kicked him in the shin.

"OW!" Mitchell yelled, dropping the phone and sending it skidding across the room. Annie darted over to snatch it up, cradling it in her arms like a newborn, and glared at him reproachfully as he nursed his leg. "What was that for?!"

"He has to come, Mitchell!"

"He can't, Annie, and you know it! Give me that-"

The ghost put the phone behind her back and danced away as Mitchell jumped towards her. Both jumped when the phone began to ring, and Mitchell took advantage of Annie's temporary distraction to grab his phone and glance at the screen.

"It's Owen," he murmured. "I'm sorry, Annie. He can't come here."

"Please, Mitchell!" Annie's voice sounded wavering. Sure enough, when the vampire glanced up, tears ran down her cheeks hot and fast. Mitchell sighed again: he never had been good with tears… "I'll hide! He won't see me!"

"Annie…"

"Please!"

"No!"

Mitchell yelled as she made another sudden move towards his shin with her foot. All trace of tears gone, Annie glared at her housemate evilly. The vampire shrunk back: he had fought with vampires, grappled with werewolves, but this ghost was scary. Scarier than anything he'd seen. She kicked.

And there was no knowing where she'd aim next…


	2. Independence

At some point in every person's life, we gain independence.

This point may be brought about by age, or by choice: but maybe, we gain independence not by choice but by force.

For George, independence came as a great surprise; or maybe surprise isn't the right word. Maybe shock would be better.

For George, independence came suddenly in the form of an enemy. A violent, roaring enemy that had both frightened and intrigued him at the time.

For George, independence had come at full moon.

_Your screams fill the air you want to run but you cant its coming and theres nothing you can do its hungry oh so hungry yellow eyes and yellow teeth and foul breath and an evil smile_

Not everybody chooses independence.

_Its roaring and its yelling and its teeth are in your neck and its ripping and its tearing and you just want to die to let the pain end and then_

George certainly never did.

_And then its gone but the pain hasnt and that confuses you there is nothing but dark_

_Nothing but dark_

_Black…_

It began the way it always did.

"George?"

George cursed silently. How could he have forgotten that she could walk through walls? He'd even taken the care to lock the door when he'd stormed upstairs. Still, wasn't a locked door a sign not to go barging into other people's bedrooms? No, apparently not. To other people, maybe. Mitchell, yes. Annie?

Not so much.

"What are you doing?" The werewolf shuffled across the floor sideways to make room for her where he sat with his back to his bed. She took the seat gratefully, ignoring the general rules of personal space like she always did. This, as ever, did not fail to annoy George: he was careful never to get to close. He couldn't. What if he lost control? True, he could not hurt her, but it was habit. And she was annoying.

"Are you hiding?"

"No," George muttered childishly. "Not hiding."

"What, then?"

Her tone was kind as it ever was, and George felt his usual guilt for having thought unkindly of the gentle ghost. She was only trying to help.

Even if it was extremely annoying.

"I'm thinking."

"About?"

_God damn this woman's persistence!_

"About earlier."

George felt Annie nod beside him. "Oh." Earlier, Mitchell and George had had (yet another) fight about Lauren: George thought that Mitchell should stop trying to help her and get her to leave them alone. Mitchell had insisted that it wasn't that simple. Annie had interfered, gotten upset, and… it ended the way it normally did. George was the one who was blamed.

"I forgive you, George," the ghost told him quietly.

"Does Mitchell?"

"You know he does."

George nodded. Yes, that was Mitchell; peace maker. Too bad he couldn't think about the other people in his life when he was off 'donating blood', as George called it.

"George?"

George sighed. "Mitchell." Annie squeezed his arm gently, and for once George was glad of her presence.

"Want to come and watch Casablanca?"

Annie got to her feet and held out a hand. A soft smile danced over her plump lips. "Come on."

George took her hand.

It ended the way it always did.


	3. Reaching

Sometimes, nothing can be quite so wonderful as a hand. A simple hand, reaching out in the darkness when you need it the most.

Mitchell stretched out his hand to George, and they both reached out to Annie in turn.

Now, Annie is reaching out, too.


	4. Scratch

It's just a scratch.

That's what she tells herself, over and over.

_It's just a scratch._

But if the lines on her arm are what she says- _just a scratch- _that doesn't explain how she feels.

If it really is just a scratch…

_Why does it hurt so much?_


End file.
